An Important Family Event
by Lampito
Summary: Dean has never been one for celebrations, although when he was just a kid himself, he made sure that Sam's birthday, Easter and Christmas were suitably observed to keep his baby bro happy. So when he wants Sam to help him mark an important occasion, how can Sam turn him down? Even if he has to wear a silly hat. A one-shot. PS Watch out for the fluff!


**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'em, and it's just as well, because I bet they'd cost a lot to keep. How much protein powder and hair product alone would Sam cost? And Dean, I hate to think what the lip balm bill would be. Plus, they'd have to rassle with the dogs for sleeping mat space.

**Title: **An Important Family Event

**Summary:** Dean has never been one for celebrations, although when he was just a kid himself, he made sure that Sam's birthday, Easter and Christmas were suitably observed to keep his baby bro happy. So when he wants Sam to help him mark an important occasion, how can Sam turn him down? Even if he has to wear a silly hat.

**Rating:** K

**Blame:** Lies with a cute little plot bunny, who popped out of the garage today. Did one of you leave the damned thing there? Also taking large doses of lurgy meds may be a contributing factor.

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**AN IMPORTANT FAMILY EVENT**

"Deeeeeean," Sam tried to let as much exasperation leak into his voice as he could without sounding too much like a sulky five year old. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely!" Dean grinned hugely, and held out the hat.

Sam eyed it as if was a rotting fish. "No," he said firmly, "No, I'm not doing the hat."

"Come on, Sam," insisted Dean, "You gotta put on the hat!"

"Dean, I'm not putting on the hat," Sam replied firmly. "You wanna do this, okay, I guess I can indulge your mental illness from time to time for the sake of peace and quiet, but only so far. The hats are for people up to about six years old, Dean..."

"It's not a mental illness," griped Dean, "This is genuinely a special occasion! And we're gonna do it properly!"

"Oh, God," moaned Sam, "How old are you again?"

"If you don't put on the hat, you don't get cake," pouted Dean. "I'll be the Cake Nazi. No cake for you!"

"Fine, I think I can live," grunted Sam.

"Sam, come on," wheedled Dean, "This is a serious milestone here, an important family event! I want my little bro to help me celebrate it!"

Sam let out an exasperated huff. "You know, I put up with a lot from you," he told his brother, "But sooner or later, I have to draw a line. And I'm not putting on the damned hat!"

"Please," asked Dean in a quiet voice.

"No! This is beyond ridiculous, it's embarrassing, and..." Sam paused mid refusal, and looked at the pleading expression on his brother's face. It was not one he'd seen on Dean, but he recognised it immediately.

It was the face he'd worn himself as a child when he'd asked whether Daddy would be home for his birthday. More often than not he wasn't, but Dean always made sure there was a cake and presents and some sort of recognition that baby Sammy was growing up.

It was the face he'd worn himself when he'd asked Dean in a tear-cracked voice whether the Easter Bunny would know where they were, because they'd moved again. He'd asked Dean, because Daddy wasn't there, but Dean had confidently assured him that the Easter Bunny kept updated records, and he was always right because there were always at least a few chocolate eggs for Sammy to find and hunt for.

It was the face he'd worn himself when he'd confided in Dean his worry that Santa wouldn't deliver to motels, and he wouldn't get anything because he didn't have a home with a tree to leave presents under like other kids, but Dean has dismissed his worries, overseen the writing of the letter to Santa, managed to find some seasonal decorations for whatever crappy place they were staying in, and always found a carrot for Rudolph and a mince pie for Santa to leave out on Christmas Eve. His faith in his big brother had been justified every year, because Santa obviously always found them, since there were presents for Sammy, and the mince pie was gone and the carrot was eaten away right to the green top.

It hadn't been until he was an adult that he wondered if anybody ever made sure there was a birthday cake, Easter eggs, or Christmas decorations for Dean when he was just a kid, and realised that the answer was probably 'no'...

He looked at the man who'd only been a child himself when he'd made sure that his baby brother's important celebrations had taken place, and figured that he probably owed Dean the celebration of a special family event that was important to him. He grinned.

"All right," he rolled his eyes melodramatically, holding out his hand, "Give me the damned hat."

"Attaboy Sammy!" Dean's face broke into a huge smile as he handed over the hat, then put on his own. "And you gotta have the hooter."

"Okay, give me the hooter."

"And the party popper."

"Yeah, okay, give me the party popper."

"And you gotta sing."

"Dean..."

"We gotta sing, Sam! It isn't done properly if we don't sing!"

Shaking his behatted head, Sam looked at his beaming brother, raised his beer in salute, and started to sing.

There was nobody else around to see them, parked on the side of the road, but that was all right, because their occasional observations of important milestones were usually private affairs. If anyone had been watching, they would've presented an unusual sight: two grown men, sitting on the hood of the Impala on a fine Spring day, drinking beer, whilst wearing sparkly party hats, and tooting on party hooters. On the car hood between them sat a small but indulgent chocolate cake. If anyone had cared to listen, they would've heard the singing.

_Happy Birthday to you..._

Sam took in the look on his brother's face, and decided that he didn't care about the hat – seeing Dean's happy expression was totally worth it. He'd wear the damned thing all day if it would make his big brother that genuinely happy.

_Happy Birthday to you..._

And the cake, with '50 Today!' carefully spelled out in cake decorating gel, actually did look pretty good...

He put down his beer carefully, and prepared to deploy his party popper.

_Happy Birthday, dear Baby, Happy Birthday to you!_

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My own little wheelbaby, Druss the SV1000, is seven today! *sniff* they grow up so quickly... but I can't ride him because I'm still too sick. I was even too sick to eat a chocolate mud cupcake for him! Waaaaaah! Reviews might make me feel better.

This fic also marks an important occasion for me - the plot bunny pen is finally empty! Well, until the Denizens start sending the damned things again, anyway. Denizens - they're depraved, but they get shit done.


End file.
